I breathe in sadness
like an addict
who has only been clean long enough
to know how much it hurts
to lose what once made you feel
more than you had in years
each sigh brings me deeper
drowning under the pain
until all I can remember the next day
is the smell of my tears on my pillowcase
and how much my bones ached
under the idea that I would never be clean again
looking for my next escape
as soon as the weight
eased off of my veins
and let some of the light in
that burned my throat
as it tried to bring me out
I am what I vowed not to be,
an addict to my own sadness

When I drink coffee
I get enough energy
to think about something other than sleep,
loneliness creeps out of its hiding place
and into the light
crushing hope with every move it makes
my fingers shudder as I begin
to want to die
a hollowness engulfs my chest
and I feel more alone
than I ever did
when I couldn’t keep my eyes open
wide enough to see
just how sad I truly was
and I tell myself
that I will never do this to myself again
but ultimately I do
when the tiredness makes my bones ache
and rattle against my skin
I’ll take a sip
that leads me into a different kind
of oblivion

You said,
“I don’t know if fear is a good enough reason
to lose someone you care about
you cut people out as if they are nothing,
an ingrown memory of something you were too paralyzed by
to try to explore
and you know that you are drowning in an ocean that you filled
with your own insecurities
but there are people that are trying to help you swim
you ignore every lifesaver they throw
because you are too afraid that they will drown too
it doesn’t work like that
there is a way that you can be happy and still survive
you don’t have to suffocate with the expectation
that you need to be alone
because being alone only makes you more scared
and everyone around you thinks that you are okay
with being lonely
even though it is eating you from the inside
I know that living is hard for you,
you put out the light that would guide you home a long time ago,
but that doesn’t mean that flame
can’t be created again”
I smiled knowing everything you said was right
and still,
I walked away.

My professor told me,”write every day”. How do I write every day when my body feels like it’s sinking. Two dark moons are pushing in on my skull, and I think it’s okay. My halo was lost long ago and sometimes I can feel the weight of where it used to be. I am a stranger to writing. It was who I was when I was broken, and then again when I was whole, but I’ve landed in purgatory where I am close to nothing. I have found myself without words in my throat, where rivers of thoughts used to occupy my mind. Now I see barren fields of nothingness, where plentiful poems used to grow. “Write every day” as if putting down words were easy, as if getting out of bed were any easier, as if loving myself enough to keep myself sane was something that seemed like it was possible. It’s not and it doesn’t. Writing means hope and hope means finding a way out, and that means feeling enough to hurt, and I don’t know if I’m ready for that. Hurting means I might be okay, so instead, I write only when I’m near breaking, just a little, and definitely not every day.

The moment I realized I could be more than my past
I found the key that unlocked the door
that was holding back my potential,
wings made of sunshine
and a halo that burned just as bright
my soul finding the light that almost forgot its existence
old fingers turned new
and years of sorrow transformed into
something that felt more real
more alive than my own heart had felt
in 10 years
there was a change
that broke open my veins
cracking my ribcage as it
took flight towards something different
than the ash and dark it was trapped in
and a longing crawled out
past my teeth
that were no longer fangs
and that longing was for life
something that I forgot that I had
and never expected to feel again

When I learned to love others, I stopped loving myself. I gave all that I had to people who never cared enough to deserve it and I lost myself in the process. I became an empty vessel of who I was and was more hollow than I had ever been. I was a mannequin of what people thought I should be. You learn a lot when you become nothing. When you are empty to yourself and the world and nothing seems like it will bring you back. Eventually, you find something that teaches you that loving yourself first will always be worth your time. Learning this is how you survive.

It’s not that I don’t want to love you.

It's that every time I look in the mirror I see sunken eye sockets and memories of someone I used to be. I remember the scars that made their way on to my body, on broken dreams and aching limbs and thoughts that destroyed my self-esteem. It’s the notebooks I filled with words that I read when I feel like breaking my own heart again. It's the bruises I gave myself on the skin that was never quite good enough for me to inhabit. It’s the not quite working brain that lives inside my head. It’s that fact that I can’t breathe when anyone says my name too fast, shellshocked from nervousness that wore away at my nervous system. It’s that my bones rattle in my body every time I think about the eighth grade. It’s patchwork blood stains on my comforter from the nights it got too bad. It's the guilt that continues to build in my veins. It’s that every time I look at you, I fear I will hurt you like I hurt myself. It’s permanent scars on my psyche that I don’t want on yours. It’s fearing that I will slide back into who I used to be. It’s not knowing who I am now.

It’s not that I don’t want to love you.
It’s that I don’t know how to love myself.